Across the Lawn
by theatricalveggie
Summary: "Please don't go. I'm going to worry about you all night if you go," she says, her voice small. An Everlarky one-shot that takes place after the 74th Hunger Games but before the Quell.


_This one-shot takes place after the 74th Hunger Games but before the Victory Tour._

She's screaming again. I should close the window. I'd sleep better. I sigh and roll on my shoulder, staring at the wall that faces Katniss's house. She only a couple hundred feet away, but I've never felt farther from her. Not even when I was lying in the mud, waiting for death in the Arena. Not even when I watched the sky for her face every night, when I hallucinated her face with fever. It's because now I know she doesn't want me anywhere near her.

When we were kids, she was apathetic at best. It's not that she didn't want to know me, she just didn't care. I did catch her staring a couple times, usually on days when I was trying to hide one of my mom's works of art. Staring isn't caring though. She didn't care, not really.

I thought she did in the Arena, but that was just a lie she told to get us out alive. I know I shouldn't resent her for it. I know it wasn't her fault we were reaped. If anything, she saved me. But I can't look at her, not when I can't tell if she's being honest or not.

At least that's what I tell myself.

It doesn't matter, she won't look at me either.

It's almost worse this way. I wish she could just go back to apathy. It would be better if she just didn't care.

But then she screams.

I cover my head with my pillow and will myself to fall back asleep, but my chest is aching. I sit up in bed. I should go check on her. _Stop being stupid, Peet._ I drop onto my back and look at the clock on my nightstand. 3:37.

I could bake.

I pull myself out of bed and attach my leg before tugging on some pants and a shirt. I yank socks on my feet to avoid the chill of the cold tile floor in my kitchen. I miss home. This is my home, now, I guess, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels like a cage. I miss the bakery. The bakery has old wood floors that stay warm in the cold months, absorbing heat from the ovens. I said something about it to Portia on the phone one night. She said all the kitchens in the Capitol are tile. Now when I look at the floor, I feel like I'm back there, back in the Capitol, waiting to be shepherded into an Arena.

I pull a sack of flour from the cabinet and set it on the counter. Sugar. Eggs. Rolling pin. I squat down and find my favorite mixing bowl in the cupboard. It's ceramic, heavy enough not to rock as I mix. It was of the few luxuries I bought with my winnings. I always thought if we weren't so poor, I'd be a lot happier. Mom wouldn't be so angry all the time. Life would be easier. Instead, I just feel alone. I can go days never leaving my house and no one notices. My family doesn't want me at the bakery. I'm a "distraction" for the customers. I don't have to go to school anymore, so if I showed up people would just stare at me like I had grown a second head instead of lost a leg. Haymitch hardly ever leaves his house. Katniss pretends like I don't exist. Sometimes I think maybe I don't anymore. I was so afraid of losing myself in the Arena, I never thought I'd lose myself here instead.

I sprinkle some flour on the counter when her scream rips through the night air. It feels like she's right next to me. My heart leaps to my throat and I take off running. This is different. This time is different. I slam open the front door and sprint across the lawn. The night air of autumn is frigid, but I barely notice the frost taking hold of the blades of grass, crunching beneath my feet as I run. I reach her door in seconds. I slam my fist, knocking repeatedly. I hear scuffling inside and Mrs. Everdeen opens the front door.

"Peeta, now's really not a good time," she says. I don't know how mothers do it, but in that one sentence she sounds kind, dismissive, and flustered all at once.

"Mom, she's not breathing!" I hear Prim call from the top of the stairs. Mrs. Everdeen turns her back to me, rushing back toward the stairs. The door hangs open. When I hear Katniss sob, I step through the frame, following her mother up the stairs.

Katniss is in the bedroom opposite of mine. She let her mother have the master suite. When I go inside I see Prim sitting on her bed, trying to calm Katniss, who is wild. Her body is glistening in sweat, her hair plastered to the side of her head. She's thrashing, her face bright red. Prim's right, she's not breathing. She cries out, but most of the words are incoherent gibberish. It's not until my name is on her lips that any of it makes sense.

"Peeta!" she exhales in a sob, but she doesn't breathe back in again. She turns her head back and forth like she's looking for something, and I know where she is.

She's in the woods.

She was hunting, I was foraging when a cannon blasted.

When I got the red-headed girl killed, Katniss thought the cannon was for me. I still remember her sprinting through the woods, panic on her face, looking for me. Expecting to find me dead. Throwing her arms around my neck, trembling in my embrace.

"You scared me to death," she whispered into my neck, her breath hot on my skin.

I remember her the night before that, in the cave, half asleep, whispering, "I could never leave this Arena without you." I don't even think she knows she said it.

And that's where she is right now. Trapped in the Arena. And she can't leave without me. She shoots up in bed and cries out again.

"Move," I order gently, and Prim pulls herself from Katniss's side. I crawl onto her bed, positioning myself right in front of her. I slide my hands across her cheeks, cupping her face. "Katniss, I'm right here. It's not real. You aren't in the Arena. It's not real."

She starts breathing rapidly. I guess fast breath is better than no breath, but quickly it seems to me like she might hyperventilate.

"It wasn't me. The cannon wasn't me. I'm still here with you. We can still get out of the Arena, together. We're both going home. Come home to me, Kat," I whisper. I feel Prim's eyes on me, her mom's, but suddenly Katniss stops panting. Her chest finds a more comfortable rhythm.

"She's breathing!" Prim says in an excited but hushed whisper.

I scratch her scalp lightly with my nails, something I did in the Arena when she was restless. After a few minutes, I feel her body calm beside me, her muscles unclenching and her body sinking into the soft bed. Katniss opens her bleary eyes and focuses on my face.

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be in her bed. "I'm sorry," I breathe, dropping my hands from her hair. "I'm sorry," I mutter again, standing from her bed. When I rise I realize Mrs. Everdeen and Prim aren't here anymore. They must have slipped out when Katniss settled. This looks bad. I expect Katniss to get angry, maybe throw something at me. I invaded her privacy. I inserted myself when she was vulnerable. She doesn't want to be seen as vulnerable or weak. She doesn't want pity. "I'll go, I'm sorry." I turn toward her door.

"Peeta," she breathes from behind me. I stop, my heart lodged in my throat. I feel like I've swallowed a rock. "I miss you."

"I miss you," I answer back, still not turning around. If I turn around, if I see her look at me like she did before, in the Arena… if she looks at me like that, I won't be able to leave.

"I was in the Arena, and the cannon went off, and you didn't whistle back," she rambles.

"I know, but I'm okay. I was okay. It wasn't me," I say to the door. We had this fight already, but she's there in that moment, right now in her head.

"Please don't go. I'm going to worry about you all night if you go," she says, her voice small, almost child-like.

"You don't need to worry about me," I reply, but I can feel my resolve crumbling. She has this effect; she's always had this effect on me. She's quiet. "I don't think it's a good idea, Katniss."

She's so silent in her bed I wonder if she's stopped breathing again. But I know that's not what it is. She is thinking.

"At the train, you asked how much would be left when we got home," she says, her voice even. "I said I didn't know." This conversation makes my heart physically hurt in my chest. I can't reply; I just stand frozen in her doorway. I can't do this again. I can't hear her make excuses or tell me she's confused. But this is on me just as much as it's on her. I should have known better. I was just a stupid kid. I can't be angry with her for this anymore. She saved my life.

"I forgive you," I say. She stops. I don't think that's what she expected me to say. "And I'm sorry for trying to hold you to what you said in the Games. I should have known better. You barely knew me before we went into that Arena. Everything that happened between us was just circumstance. You did what you had to do to get us out alive. And if you had to lie to me to save my life then that's what you had to do. I know it wasn't real now. I get it."

"You asked what would be left when we got home," she says again, ignoring my statement. Almost like she practiced this. "I said I didn't know, because I didn't. The farther we got from the Arena, the more confused it all got. And then being home, I thought everything would go back to normal, except it was not normal anymore. Nothing _feels_ normal." I know what she means. I don't think anyone but a victor could. "Ask me again," she states. I feel like I'm choking. I don't dare breathe. "Ask me again, Peeta. How much is left?"

"How much?" I somehow manage to whisper.

"All of it. It's all left."

I turn around slowly. She's sitting in bed still, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her body language isn't open or inviting. She's terrified of what she is saying. What she is admitting to herself. I've seen this girl stare down Mutts and Careers and fireballs and death, but I've never seen her as terrified as she is in this moment. "I think about you. All the time, I think about you," she says, staring at her quilt even though I'm facing her now. "I wish you were here. I just… Every moment you aren't here, I wonder if you are alive. I wonder if you are okay."

"That's… that's not exactly what I feel, Katniss," I respond. It's not. I worry about her, yes, but that's not the foundation of my feelings. I'm in love with her, and what she's describing is not love. It's obligation. It's partnership. We are tied together, bonded in ways no one but a tribute could understand. But that's not love. That's not what I want.

"I know. I know that's not what you feel. But when you walk in a room, it's like I'm letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding," she answers. She drops her knees and swings her legs out of bed. Her feet hit the floor. She's wearing a long tee shirt, her legs are bare in the cold, night air. She must be freezing. She steps closer to me and I back up, nearly backing into the wall. I see her swallow, steeling her nerves. She wraps her arms around my waist and rests her head on my chest. I can't help it, my arms reach up and wrap themselves around her, pulling her tight. Her shirt is drenched. She sweat clear through it in her nightmare.

"What if I kissed you?" she asks softly. My heart immediately starts hammering against my ribs and I know she can hear it as the side of her face rests on my chest. I can't play this cool. "I mean, what if I kissed you when there were no cameras? Then you'd know it was real, right?" she whispers, her fingers twisting the back of cotton shirt as she tries uselessly to calm her nerves. She's not good at any of this. It's making her insides twist, and yet she's pushing forward.

"You don't have to do that, Kat," I answer, avoiding her question entirely. Giving her the out I think she is waiting for. Instead, she lifts her face up and looks at me.

"If I kissed you, would you kiss me back?" she asks, almost clinically.

"I don't know," I reply.

She watches my face for a moment. My cheeks flush red and I try to calm myself down, but she perches onto her tip toes and softly presses her lips to mine. It's as if all oxygen has left the room. I am dizzy. I am dizzy with the scent of her – sweat and woods, just like in the Arena. I thought I'd never taste her again but here she is on my lips, mint and clove. My hands shoot to her face and bury themselves in her hair. What started out slow in the Arena quickly gains momentum in the privacy of her room, away from prodding, curious eyes.

"Katniss," I breathe into her mouth, and when her body trembles with mine I step forward and drop her onto the bed, climbing on top of her. We kiss until I forget what it's like not to be kissing her. Her fingers slide along the hem of my pants and my voice catches in my throat, my words garbled and nonsensical.

"Stay the night," she whispers.

"And what happens in the morning?" I ask.

"Stay the morning too," Katniss says back. I sit back and stare at her face. She's being serious. "You don't have to stay, I get it," she adds quietly. "But I want you to."

"Okay," I whisper, but the word sounds more like a rumble than anything.

"Okay," she whispers back. She lifts the covers and crawls inside, then she looks back and stares up at me with her giant, slate gray eyes. I drop down beside her, letting my body sink into her bed. She curls herself into me, resting her head on my chest like we did in the sleeping bag in the cave. I can't help it, but my fingers make their way to her hair, twirling it between my fingers.

"Just stay with me," she exhales, sleep finally catching up with her.

"Always," I answer, but she's already asleep.

A/N – I know the book was a little different than the movies with the nighlock/Foxface's death (there wasn't a cannon when they were apart, her reaction was different, etc.), but the movie version fit this one-shot better.


End file.
